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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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“
Good
-
bye
,
Governor
,
”
he
said
.
“
I
’
ll
see
you
again
pretty
soon
.
Don
’
t
let
this
discourage
you
.
They
’
ll
come
around
all
right
after
a
while
.
So
long
.
”
He
went
out
,
shutting
the
door
.
And
seated
in
the
one
chair
of
the
room
,
Magnus
Derrick
remained
a
long
time
,
looking
at
his
face
in
the
cracked
mirror
that
for
so
many
years
had
reflected
the
painted
faces
of
soubrettes
,
in
this
atmosphere
of
stale
perfume
and
mouldy
rice
powder
.
It
had
come
—
his
fall
,
his
ruin
.
After
so
many
years
of
integrity
and
honest
battle
,
his
life
had
ended
here
—
in
an
actress
’
s
dressing
-
room
,
deserted
by
his
friends
,
his
son
murdered
,
his
dishonesty
known
,
an
old
man
,
broken
,
discarded
,
discredited
,
and
abandoned
.
Before
nightfall
of
that
day
,
Bonneville
was
further
excited
by
an
astonishing
bit
of
news
.
S
.
Behrman
lived
in
a
detached
house
at
some
distance
from
the
town
,
surrounded
by
a
grove
of
live
oak
and
eucalyptus
trees
.
At
a
little
after
half
-
past
six
,
as
he
was
sitting
down
to
his
supper
,
a
bomb
was
thrown
through
the
window
of
his
dining
-
room
,
exploding
near
the
doorway
leading
into
the
hall
.
The
room
was
wrecked
and
nearly
every
window
of
the
house
shattered
.
By
a
miracle
,
S
.
Behrman
,
himself
,
remained
untouched
.
On
a
certain
afternoon
in
the
early
part
of
July
,
about
a
month
after
the
fight
at
the
irrigating
ditch
and
the
mass
meeting
at
Bonneville
,
Cedarquist
,
at
the
moment
opening
his
mail
in
his
office
in
San
Francisco
,
was
genuinely
surprised
to
receive
a
visit
from
Presley
.
“
Well
,
upon
my
word
,
Pres
,
”
exclaimed
the
manufacturer
,
as
the
young
man
came
in
through
the
door
that
the
office
boy
held
open
for
him
,
“
upon
my
word
,
have
you
been
sick
?
Sit
down
,
my
boy
.
Have
a
glass
of
sherry
.
I
always
keep
a
bottle
here
.
”
Presley
accepted
the
wine
and
sank
into
the
depths
of
a
great
leather
chair
near
by
.
“
Sick
?
”
he
answered
.
“
Yes
,
I
have
been
sick
.
I
’
m
sick
now
.
I
’
m
gone
to
pieces
,
sir
.
”
His
manner
was
the
extreme
of
listlessness
—
the
listlessness
of
great
fatigue
.
“
Well
,
well
,
”
observed
the
other
.
“
I
’
m
right
sorry
to
hear
that
.
What
’
s
the
trouble
,
Pres
?
”
“
Oh
,
nerves
mostly
,
I
suppose
,
and
my
head
,
and
insomnia
,
and
weakness
,
a
general
collapse
all
along
the
line
,
the
doctor
tells
me
.
’
Over
-
cerebration
,
’
he
says
;
’
over
-
excitement
.
’
I
fancy
I
rather
narrowly
missed
brain
fever
.
”
